


Configuration

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Character Theory, Gen, Hellraiser References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: “I’m ninety-nine percent secret compartments.” he joked with an unplaceable smile.
“They called me ornament.”, he chuckles, the sound full of something unnameable.
“I am a psychiatrist.”, he says, his servos twitching as though trying to quote his own words, like a private joke.





	Configuration

_They took him to the **gallows**_   
_He **fought** them all the way, though._   
_And when they **asked** us_   
_How we knew his **name…**_

_“I’m ninety-nine percent **secret compartments.** ” he joked with an unplaceable smile.  
_

_“They called me **ornament.** ”, he chuckles, the sound full of something unnameable.  
_

_“I am a **psychiatrist.** ”, he says, his servos twitching as though trying to quote his own words, like a private joke._

Rung sits at his desk, servos flickering over the body of a new model ARK. His optics are dim, glasses low on the olfactory ridge and his smile peaceful and warning all at once.

His legs are crossed, he shifts, a hand rubs his shoulder and he chuckles before tapping the window to his spark.

His rounded frame- odd, given his bulkier and blockier and _sturdier_ fellows, seemed to twitch. Beneath his plating, gears and cogs whirred and a compartment glowed as it shifted along pulleys and levers within him.

It was moving again, fitful creature, fitful deity.

“Oh how you worry.”, he murmured to his shoulder, where it settled, “Worry, worry all your days.”

_-I fear discovery, O **Configuration.** -_

“I am The Useless Tool, my leige.”, murmured Rung, his voice smooth and low, “No one has interest in me farther than my shape.”

_-But…-_

“Move as you wish, you know I have never minded. Mind the spark, mind the T-Cog; as always.”

_-Thank you, my Configuration.-_

“It is my function.”

_-Which one, you have many and you have none.-_

“True enough.”, laughed Rung.

The door creaked open then, and Rung looked up.

“Doc, can we talk? _Just between us.”_

“Of course, of course.”, said Rung, his voice calm and soothing, “And as always, not a soul will know what you tell me here. It’s _completely_ confidential.”

The psychiatrist smiled, feeling an answering pulse to his own sparkbeat. 

The shard of Primus hidden within the labyrinth of puzzle-workings hummed under it’s own power, own glory. Rung’s smile was soft in affection for his charge, and his patient.

He was ninety-nine percent secret compartments- _and gave a God-Shard plethoras of places to hide._

He was merely an ornament- _a safe with a painting for a door, a lockbox made into a sculpture._

He was the Configuration- _the unsolvable temptation, the carrier of the Creator. He was useless to those who did not know-_

_But necessary to the **One** who did._

“Have a seat, tell me what’s on your mind.”


End file.
